Throwing Sparks
by wordsneversaid
Summary: My name is Lucille Hastings. I live in Panem. District eight to be exact. This year they are punishing us with something new, something called the Hunger Games. It is the first ever Games, and no matter what, I am not going down without a fight.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"Hastings! Get back to work," hisses Mr. O'Donnell, the factory manager. He is staring down at me with his beady black eyes. I can see the sheen of sweat on his balding head. I can tell he doesn't enjoy his job. But the truth is, I like my job. When Panem split into separate districts last year, after the dark days, I got to choose which district we lived in. My brother was too ill. I chose district 8, because I'm used to working with clothing and textiles. Before ma and pa died in the rebellion, we used to work in a family run clothing store. I only think Noah agreed to live here because district eight's boundaries are very close to home. He's never been the same since our parents died.

I take a fleeting sip of water, and continue working on the jacket I am making. It is a dark crimson red and woven tightly. This jacket will not be destroyed easy. I continue working for a few hours until I see Noah's broad form shouldering its way through the crowd of workers. "Lucy," he says, "I got our paychecks. We can go for the day." Eagerly, I rip mine from his hands. The numbers are satisfying despite the fact that most districts are quite poor. I do nice work, and Mr. O'Donnell knows that. He's even told me that it would be a shame for me to ever leave the factory. That's okay with me, because I never plan to.

When Noah and I get home, I notice that there is a flyer taped to the door of our apartment. Most of the buildings were destroyed in the rebellion against the capitol. The people of Panem were not happy with the capitol's controlling ways, so we attacked. Sadly, they won, and we were forced into things called districts. Me and Noah are lucky to have a stable building to live in. I unlock the door, and Noah picks up the flier, scanning it carefully. When we are inside, he sits down on the couch, a crease in his forehead. "This isn't good." He mutters.

"What isn't?" I ask. Did he lose his job? We need the money…Is our house getting taken away? We can't move somewhere else…

"You know those things called the Hunger Games that the capitol invented for us?" he says.

"Yeah," I say, "I know the Hunger Games." Just a few weeks ago the capitol announced that they would be holding the Hunger Games, a sort of gladiator fight between children in an arena. They gave us the details, but my memory is fuzzy.

"Well the Capitol decided on how they are going to choose the tributes." Noah says.

"Oh, really?" I ask, nonchalant. Chances are they'll pick more equipped children to compete. Me and Noah are needed here in District 8.

"There's going to be something called the reaping. All the kids in the town from twelve to eighteen's names will be entered and picked at random. A boy and a girl."

I drop the plate I am holding. "Does that mean we'll be entered?"

Noah bends down to scoop up the shards of china that have shattered all across the floor. "Yes," he gulps, "It's tomorrow."

I stare at him blankly, not able to process what he just told me. All that flashes through my mind are images of me dying at the hands of another person. A child, like me, nonetheless. His eyes scan the official looking paper and he stares at me. Disgust is mirrored in his eyes. "Wear something pretty." And then he disappears into the other room and doesn't emerge again.

Sighing, I collapse onto the couch. _I'm not going to get picked. It's not going to happen, _I tell myself. There are thousands of people in district 8; I'm just one fifteen year old girl.

I start to fall into a troubled sleep, splayed out on the couch, when I hear a tap on the boarded windows of our apartment. I stand up, groggily making my way towards the door. When I open it, a shock of blonde hair shoots into the room. Before I can see who it is, they scream out. They must have stepped on a shard of the plate I dropped.

"Hello, Lucille," says the figure, which I now notice is a scrawny boy with wild eyes and tangled blonde hair. He is my age, and works at the factory with me. His name is Michael.

"Hello," I say, reaching behind me to grab something to hit him with.

"No, no, wait," he says, "I have something very important to tell you."

I raise an eyebrow, still contemplating hitting him with a vase and yelling out. He smiles, a wicked, gap toothed smile. For the first time, I notice he must have been injured in the dark days. "Ok, what is it?"

"Well a bunch of us are running away before the reaping. I assume you've gotten the note. We're gathering supplies, and we're going to escape out of the district and live there. Do you and Noah want to come?"

"No," I say, "I don't want to come." Little do I know it was the biggest mistake of my life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

The next morning is all a blur. The mayor makes announcements to the district about the reaping and the entire population is forced to wear their nicest clothing. Noah doesn't emerge from his room all morning, and I start to get worried. But since he's Noah, my capable, brooding brother, I choose not to bother him. In silence I eat breakfast and scour my closet for something acceptable to wear. No matter how much I paw through the racks of clothing, my eyes rest on one dress. It is pure white and lies just above my knees. The material is soft and worn in but the bright white of it still shines like the sun. It is the last dress that my mother ever made, and it was radiant.

Carefully, I put it on, so as not to stretch the delicate fabric. But it doesn't matter. This dress will never rip. With restored confidence, I trot over to the cracked mirror in the corner of the room. My sallow skin from working in the factories so long seems bright and golden and my dull blonde hair even seems to have some shine in it. Smiling inwardly I murmur _Thanks mom._

After a few hours of tidying up the house, it is time for the reaping to begin. I don't want to disturb Noah, but the consequences for missing the reaping are too large. Slowly I turn the doorknob. The room is dark and silent and there is a pile of clothes on the floor below the bed. He must have been picking something to wear. "Noah," I call, "It's time for the reaping." He doesn't answer me. I creep to the middle of the room and my bare foot falls on something cold and squishy. I jump back, looking to see what it is.

It is Noah, slumped lifelessly on the floor.

I stifle a gasp and try to control my breathing. But there is no breath to control. I'm in complete and utter shock. When I can get my muscles to move, I crouch down beside him, shaking him. "Noah, Noah, wake up!" He doesn't reply. And then I remember something mother taught me, to see if a dress was too tight for somebody at a fitting. You felt their pulse. Agonizingly slowly, my hand creeps up to his neck. It was cold and clammy and nothing moved. My brother, my only person that was there for me, was dead.

Before the tears can flow, I draw my eyes to the clock next to his bed. I am ten minutes late for the reaping. I wince and give Noah's lifeless body a quick hug before racing out the door. I tear down the streets until I realize I am still not wearing any shoes. Ignoring the obvious pain in my feet, I double over when I reach town square. There are children lined up before a stage, in what looks like age order. Finally I notice my friend Ella, standing between two boys from school. I've always been pretty tall, so it's hard for me to anonymously make my way through the crowd. I end up getting a few angry yells and some nasty comments. When I reach Ella I ask what I missed.

"Well," she says, "The mayor went off in this whole speech about how Panem has to compete in the Hunger Games because of the Dark Days, and just gave some rules and stuff. Where were you?"

I swallow. "Noah killed himself."

She stares at me with wide eyes. "I'm so sorry! Why'd he do it?"

"I think because of the Hunger Games. But Michael from school stopped by to ask if we wanted to run away from the district…I should have told him…" My voice cracks at the end of the sentence.

Before Ella can reply we are "shh"ed by a girl a year older than us. The mayor is picking the girl and the boy tribute.

Our representative from the capitol, Maxwell Kingsley, solemnly shoves his hand in the box where all the female names are kept. He moves his hand around and reaches out of the box with a slip of paper. "Noah Hastings," read out Maxwell. A few people turn to look at me. I turn away, red-faced. Nobody walks up to the stage. How could they? Their tribute is already dead. "Noah Hastings," repeats Maxwell again. Still nobody.

"Uh," I manage in a small voice, "Noah is…dead."

"What?" Asks the mayor through his microphone.

The boy next to me shouts out "Noah Hastings is dead!"

"Well," says the mayor, flustered, "I suppose we'll have to pick another name then…"

"No," I say, "Wait." Finally he can hear me. All heads turn to me. "Noah was my brother. I'll go to the Hunger Games."

The shock of what I just said hits as soon as the mayor asks for my name. "Lucille Hastings," I swallow. I just volunteered to be hurt and killed and leave my home forever. But then again, I have nobody to come back to, anyway.

"Very well, Lucille Hastings, please come to the stage." As if my legs were made of jelly, I glide to the stage. Suddenly my pretty dress seems to be made of rocks. I can barely stand. I turn away from everybody, closing my eyes as I stand for all my district to se.

Next Maxwell chooses the male tribute. He reads out the name "Alexander Hart." Slowly, I inch my eyes open. Strutting confidently to the stage is a broad shouldered seventeen year old boy with a mess of black hair falling in his eyes. He stands next to me, and I nearly cower under his powerful stance.

Maxwell addresses the crowd of muttering people and shrugs. In a monotonous voice, he says "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor." And then he is gone and Alexander and I are left standing on the stage.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Alexander extends his hand. I stare blankly at it until I realize he wants me to shake it. "Lucille." I say.

"Alexander. Just call me Alex."

Slowly section by section starts filing out. The twelves first, up to the eighteens. I watch as my friends leave. None of them even bother looking back at me. I only know a few of the kids in the crowd, because we're all new to the district, so watching them go is so much easier. Alex notices me watching the crowd. "My sister killed herself," he says. I don't know why he's telling me this. "I know what you're going through."

I nod, waiting for Maxwell to reappear again to take us onto the train. "I just didn't think he would do something like that, you know?"

Alex grunts. "I'm starting to think she made the right choice. I could've avoided this mess." He takes my hand and helps me off the stage, jumping after me.

"Don't say that." I smile up to him. "We're in this together now."

Suddenly Maxwell appears. The fashions in the capitol have always been crazy, even through the dark days. He makes up for appearance in what he lacks in personality. His hair is bright yellow with strands of red woven between and his eyes are a very artificial green. "Now, children, we are going to make our way to the train where we will ride to the capitol. Remember, there are cameras on you at all times."

I swallow. "Okay." And Maxwell leads the way to the station at the end of the district, where Alexander and I will leave behind the last parts of our previous life. Chances are we'll either be dead or only one of us will return. At the station, I notice a crew of brightly dressed camera people standing by. Maxwell smiles and he signals for Alexander and I to smile as well. Instead, I finally feel the tears for the death of my brother breaking through. I sniffle and try to hold them back, but I can't. Alex puts a hand on my shoulder and guides me to the train, covering me from the cameras.

Maxwell shakes his head and disappears once again, leaving Alex and I alone with each other. The train ride, unlike everything else, is private from the cameras."Your brother?" asks Alexander.

I stare at his thoughtful face, hidden under his shaggy features. "You need a haircut." I say.

He looks startled. "What?"

"Yeah," I say, wiping the tears from my face. "You don't look like you act."

"How do I act?" He says, sitting down on a lavishly decorated chair. Everything in the train is beautiful.

"Well you're nice. But you look like someone who spends their times breaking things."

"I do." He says with an edge in his voice. "Ever since my sister died. You haven't heard of me? I've been kicked out of any job I wanted. I get in fights with almost everyone who crosses my path. Oh, and if you were wondering why my hair is so long…" he swiped his hand across his forehead sweeping his hair back. On the side of his forehead was a healing gash, surrounded by purple bruises. "My mother used to beat me and my sister. It's why my sister killed herself."

"Oh," I covered my mouth. "Alex, I didn't know…"

"I just didn't think you needed to hear that. What you did was amazing. Your brother would have thanked you."

I give a nod of thanks, sitting down next to him. I study his face for a moment and notice that his nose is a little misshapen. I bite my lip.

"My nose? Yeah, my mom did it. I haven't been able to smell since I was ten. Can't taste things because of it, either."

I think back to my life when I was ten. The war was just starting and my parents closed down the old clothing shop. I cried, and Noah was bored with the whole thing. He was my age too, but he didn't care about the shop as much as I did. My parents were loyal to the rebelling America and the capitol made sure they payed for their choices. Noah and I were orphaned. Alex must have been getting beaten since before the war started.

"That's going to be helpful in the games," I say, attempting to joke with him. He gives me a disgusted look and stands up, slamming his chair into the table.

"I'm going to take a nap."

"Alright…" I say, and then I realize I'm going to be alone for the games. I've just ruined my bond with Alex, I have no family anymore, and Maxwell wants nothing to do with me. I drag myself to my assigned bedroom and sit down on the fluffy comforter. I fall on my back and moan. The bloodbath of the games pales in comparison to my life at the moment. And I fall asleep, and sleep the day away.


End file.
